Rediscovery
by Reigning Rats
Summary: Cassie's dead and Tim blames himself, though it kills Kon to see him do it.


Being a late-night crime fighter came with its own endless drawbacks. Tim had thought he'd come to terms with that simple fact. While he never really did recover from the barrage of losses those short years back, he'd become an adept griever. The loss of his father had rankled like the stench of rotting corpses, but he had recovered, just as he had with Steph and Bart and Kon and the countless others he couldn't call friends but felt connected to regardless. _Everyone_ in the cape crowd had experienced the ultimate loss, many more than once.

This, though, rocked Tim. His body literally recoiled, both revolted and baffled. Just that morning, he'd talked with Cassie over the communicators, warning her of possible dangers and plausible plans. He filled his role, played the responsible leader, but somewhere between their blasé conversation and this moment, Cassie ended up as sprays of shredded entrails on the walls of a cavern that he should have _known_ would be dangerous. Because of his _idiot_ mistake, Raven had to stand before him and reiterate just how wrong everything went.

He can feel the cool of cloth beneath the palms of his hands and someone's hand clutching far too tightly at his shoulder. It feels more like claws than comfort but, when he numbly tipped his head to the side, he locked eyes with Conner, poised like a forgiving God. Tim's mouth can only flap uselessly. He figured the shock had paralyzed his vocal cords. Raven kept talking but all he could see were the tears trailing down the dark curve of her cheek and Donna's silent weeping.

It's all too much for him to process. Kon's hand is a heavy, warm weight against the kevlar of his suit and he feels suffocated. Flight or fight kicks in just as he expected it to. If Tim had been taught anything truly profound, it was that running away to fight another day carried no shame. Numbly, Tim climbed to his feet. When his intent became clear, Kon released him. He wasn't sure just _where_ he was going to go, but he left the tower and climbed into the jet. A sort of high pitched ringing filled his ears and nearly drowned out the white noise clouding his mind.

When Tim reached Gotham, he shed Robin and once more dawned Tim Drake. An early autumn chill crept under the thin cotton his sweater. In retaliation, he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and ignored the growing darkness. The sidewalk became fascinating; its simplicity could be tolerated by the frayed circuits of his mind. Cracking concrete gave way to supple if unkempt grass. Still on auto-pilot, Tim scaled the wall of his old home and jimmied open one of the living room windows.

The house brought comfort rather than misery. He could remembers the times his father had sat him down and played down what had once seemed to be unendurable. As a child, he had misplaced a clipping of Dick as Robin. For days, he'd sat in bed and refused to do anything other than searching for his scrap of photographic evidence. His father had come in, forced him to sit down, and made all that had seemed hopeless and lost better once more.

While the warming comfort of his father's arms had long ago faded, he could still perch on the edge of his old bed and recall those serene moments. It did little this time to soothe any of his hurt. Cassie was _dead_ and it was all _his fault_. Could someone recover from something like that? How in the hell could _he_?

Throwing an arm over his eyes, Tim let himself flop onto the sheets and resisted the urge to sneeze when a cloud of dust rose up. He allowed himself to expel the sorrow already corroding him from the inside out. Wails and shrieks, shuddering sobs and too quick rasps for breath. Only belatedly, after maybe the second hour, did Tim realize it was _his_ voice rebounding again and again against the confirms of his old bedroom.

He should have looked farther into the threat. They had been dealing with an entirely new enemy, one he had insufficient information on. He'd assumed the best of the situation, wrote Deadlock off as a two-bit mastermind wanna-be, and _got Cass killed_. If it had been an act of God, if _anyone_ could have the blame placed upon them, Tim would readily submit to it, if only to preserve his own sanity. But this - . This was his fault. No one else could shoulder the blame without stretching the truth to unfathomable lengths.

He didn't deserve to lead them. He should have allowed Cass to continue as the leader. Should have invested more time in mission research than Organic Chemistry. Should have went with her, assigned her a partner, and every other should have, would have, could have that Tim's mind all too readily supplied.

Nothing made sense and the world swam when he finally let his arm flop onto the bed. He tried to hold on to the hope that she would find her own convoluted path back to them, but the probability in favor ran too low for him to keep a firm grip. The hope left him and with it went the remnants of his self-control. Curling on his side and wrapping both arms round his pounding skull, Tim carried on, harsh sobs, violent jerking and all. Time and reality became abstract ideas, seemingly concocted by the time's mad men. Tim lost himself then.

It could have been hours or days for all he knew and, when Tim pried open his eyes, he found himself curiously still numb and suffering from a full body ache. The events of recent crashed back like the tides of forceful oceans and he meandered back down the dreary path his mind had begun upon. There were no more tears. The tracks from previous made his cheek itch fiercely and he could feel the crust of mucus and sweat sticking to his jaw and nose. Each pore felt as if pebbles had been ground in. He could barely breathe, let alone detect the entrance of another.

A gentle hand wiped at the crust, peeling off the crud with near cruel delicacy. Tim didn't deserve it, not really: not anymore. He shut his eyes against it, willing his own mind to punish him even in vivid hallucinations, because, really, who would handle him like _this_ after what he'd done.

But the cool touch of a rough cloth against the raw skin of his cheeks and eyes both soothed and frightened him. Everything was too real to be unreal. He could feel the too hot breath ghosting across his forehead, the subtle weigh of a body seated above his own. He tilted his head back and stared at a once welcome face. Now it only sharpened his misery and he actually recoiled away from Kon, from his best friend, from the man he'd _betrayed_. He and Cassie had made a cute couple, the darling dears of the Titans, and he had _ruined it_.

Tim opened his mouth to speak but all that came forth was a choked noise of distress. Kon leaned over further and cooed to Tim like settling a frightened mare. Any other time, he may have been affronted by being treated like a scared animal or even comforted by Conner's ridiculous attempts at comfort, but all Tim could muster was despair.

"Hey," Kon breathed.

Tim went ramrod straight and tried once more to speak. His throat ached from the screaming, so much so he couldn't bring himself to speak. He'd probably injured his vocal cords. And diaphragm, because each time he sucked in another breath, the entirety of his chest throbbed.

Finally, something slipped past his lips, "I'm sorry."

He wasn't sure if Kon could even make sense of his quiet, broken murmur but the hand sweeping across his brow felt reassuring enough to suggest he had. Tim tried turning his head away, saying he didn't need the comfort, not from Kon after he'd gotten his friend's long-time girlfriend _killed_. He didn't deserve this. Not now and not ever again.

When Kon's lips touched down upon his own, Tim could have sworn he felt the anger and grief slipping from Kon's lips to Tim's. He could _taste_ the emotions, feel them on a whole new level that made his head reel. Kissing Cassie after Kon's death wasn't like this. That had felt empty, a meaningless gamble that flopped in the end. Maybe because, back then, they both _knew_ Kon would fight his way back, twist their perception of possible just to get back. This time, he and Kon knew Cassie wouldn't be coming back. She was gone for real. The absolute nature of it made him desperate and he responded near viciously.

He'd never had sex with a meta before but, given the circumstances, he figured Kon could handle whatever Tim chose to throw at him. Nipping at Kon's lower lip, he let out a harsh growl and pulled Kon closer, closer, till he could feel the heat accumulating between them and the erratic beating of their hearts. Euphoria surged against the tatters of his mind and Tim surrendered to it.

It felt so wrong to be like this with Kon, like a betrayal he could never amend. He couldn't think properly though, not with Kon's hand gripping him roughly through the kevlar of his suit. The guttural moan snaking out from his throat is almost too animalistic for Tim to recognize it as his own, but it's perfectly plausible. He's never been _this_ aroused, or confused, in his life and Kon is nipping at the flesh just behind his ear and there's a hand teasingly ghosting over the hardening nubs of his nipples and _Jesus_ –

He needs this: _needs_. The release; the pain; the distraction; the attentions. He needs it all but even when he shifts to straddle Kon's lap and returns the feel good touches, it still isn't enough. He needs more, more, moremore_more_ because he can still remember Raven's tears, the silently oppressive blame and the look in Conner's eyes after he'd been told the news. Maybe the images would never be cut out from his memory; perhaps they were meant to always linger, always haunt him.

Except Tim doesn't give a shit about any of that because he's desperate and frustrated and lost and Kon is here, offering a way they can both escape, and never mind their friendship. This isn't romance. Kon doesn't love him: not how he loved Cassie. When Tim rocks his hips forward and arches back, he knows it's not love making or any other candy coated, idealistic nonsense. This is sex, plain and simple. He and Kon were going to fuck, if only to make themselves forget.

Right then, Tim had no problem with it, especially when Kon started fiddling with the clasps keeping his suit on. Rather than risk letting the mood slip or their consciences finally seeing reason, Tim went to work at getting himself nude. Kon joined in, nearly ripping his shirt off before tackling the button of his waistband with shaking hands.

Too much distance now lay between them, even as Tim wriggled out of his suit. Leaning forward, he locked lips with Kon once more and sought to devour the sorrow, to take it in as his own and spare Conner the pain. As their tongues battle for dominance, Tim can taste the anguish. It makes his stomach roil and bile rise in his throat, but he forces it down and finally sheds the last of his suit.

"Are you sure?"

Tim doesn't know how to answer because, even though the question seems reasonable and worthy of some serious consideration, Kon is palming the bare flesh of his arousal and he can't force himself to be coherent then. The hand upon him is too warm, calloused and rough, a man's hand not unlike his own. Kon has his hip in a near vice like grip, sure to leave bruises, just so Tim must submit himself to Kon's will. Tim wants more, but Kon seems determined to drag it out as he grips lightly and moves in his hand in a painfully slow rhythm.

His hands find Kon's shoulders and he grips: hard. Kon can take the punishment, he's a super, after all. So, Tim lets his nails dimple the flesh, lets the ragged edges of his breath ghost over Kon's now bare shoulder while he's jerked off. It feels wrong; it really does. Tim can't force himself to care though, not when the hand on his hip snakes around and presses into the sensitive bundle of nerves at the base of his spine. Then that hand is moving down, feather light, as it traveled the crease of Tim's backside. Like a shameless, wanton whore, Tim spread his legs on either side of Kon, allowing for easier access.

Kon's chest rumbles appreciatively and the vibrations go straight to the pit of arousal twisting in Tim's gut. He twitches, an allover shudder, when a finger skids across the tightened skin of his hole. Rather than encourage, Tim wants to yell at Kon, tell him to _stop_ being so gentle and just _use_ Tim's body because, right then, that was all Tim had to offer.

Arching down and releasing Kon's shoulders, he licked at the tip of Kon's manhood. The appreciative grunt made Tim buck against Kon's finger, letting the dry digit slip inside for only a moment before he leaned forward to completely engulf the tip. The short lived entrance burned, entirely too unpleasant to really enjoy, but he needed that, needed Kon to understand he needed it.

Time lost all meaning from then on. He suckled on the head of Kon's arousal while he steadied himself with one hand and rhythmically whacked off his best friend with the other. Insist fingers massaged and coaxed Tim to relax, to let Kon in. Eventually, he allowed himself that and nearly lost himself when Kon shoved his finger in, knuckle deep and already twisting and wriggling inside him.

Kon still refused to do as Tim silently pleaded. He'd taken the time while Tim busied his mouth to find at least some lotion to ease the entrance of his fingers. While Tim was being denied what he wanted, he allowed Kon to take what he sought. Pushing back against Kon's hand, he hummed low in his throat when a second finger joined the first. When Kon pressed down against his prostate, causing a shock wave of liquid fire to shoot from his groin outward, Tim rewarded him by suppressing his gag reflex and allowing Kon to face fuck him. He felt like a cheap toy, a late night whore turning tricks for his John, but this was _Kon_ and he owed him at least this.

A third finger buried itself inside him and Tim took in Kon completely till he could breathe in the truly unique musk radiating from his sex. He did all he could to encourage Kon, everything from mewling pitifully to fucking himself on Kon's fingers but his friend refused to relent. Taking his time, Kon prepared Tim as best he could through the haze of both arousal and shock.

When Kon rubbed at his prostate and refused to relent, Tim pulled away and curled in on himself, eyes screwed shut and nearly screaming, "_Fuck_ me."

He could hear the leer in Kon's voice as Kon pulled away as well, "How about you fuck me?"

Despite his lack of experience, Tim could understand just what Kon was demanding. Scooting back up, he sat in Kon's lap and wrapped his arms round his neck. He could feel the rough tips of Kon's fingers digging into his hips once more as Tim reached back and slowly lowered himself down onto Kon's member. Before he could truly penetrate himself, Kon stopped him by gripping harder and ceasing all movement.

Tim stared blearily at Kon, unsure as to what was happening. He understood when Kon pulled a condom from his jean pocket. Of course. He should have expected this. Tim couldn't care less about his own well being, but, when he looked up to lock eyes with Kon, he could see the caring reflected in the endless blue of Conner's eyes. Tim's heart broke and the guilt made him impatient. He wanted to _forget_, to give and give and _give_ till he couldn't stand it any longer. Patient, he waited till Conner was satisfied before ramming himself down and curling in.

He could hardly stand it.

Bent nearly in half with hands gripping so tightly to Kon's shoulders the knuckles had gone white, Tim let out a torrid of needy groans while his lower half rocked back and forth with the help of Conner's hands on his hips and the tell-tale tingle of his TTK. Invisible digits ran across his skin, cooling the pooling sweat and soothing any aches still lingering in Tim's body. He bucked against the kindness in the gesture and sought to punish himself, to make up for the wrong he had committed. Without further thought, Tim arched up and away, one hand pressing on Kon's stomach while the other rested just above his hip. Through half lidded eyes, Tim stared down at his friend, lips curving into a mute apology before he set a brutal pace.

Kon's protests died from then on. He looked nearly as undone as Tim. His head bent and teeth nipping at Tim's throat, Kon pushed back and used his TTK to go faster, deeper, to touch and feel and breathe in all that Tim was and ever would be to forget the world outside and the tragedy they had yet to properly face. He knew he shouldn't Tim like this, not when they were both too vulnerable and murky minded. Even as he tried to pull away, to stop the nonsense, Tim would rock and slide, mouth open and brows drawn together, and Kon would just get a _glimpse_ then find his resolve faltering. His hands clutched tighter at Tim's hips, unable to slacken and let the moment abruptly end.

They fed off one another, both hungry for what the other could offer. Trading dirty secrets between the stolen kisses, Tim put his all behind the carnal acts and allowed himself to be completely obliterated by the sensations seizing him. He cried out, long and low, as he bent to unnatural lengths and submitted to his release and the harsh pounding of Kon below him. His vision blackened round the edges and he could do little than cling and ride it out.

"Fuck, _Tim_," Kon breathes and Tim knows they've both reached the end.

If he could, Tim would savor the bittersweet moment. But this was no fairytale and no wet dream. Crashing down from the euphoria high, he lifted himself up and off. He couldn't contain the grimace at hearing the wet pop. Walking became all too uncomfortable and he remember that neither he nor Kon were gay and that _Cass was dead_.

Tim picked up his suit, refusing to turn and look at Kon. He dressed single-mindedly and prayed the silence would last. Twilight hung around them, both suffocating and comforting.

"Hey, Tim," Kon tried, sounding both winded and broken, "don't _do this_ to me, man. Not right now. Not cool."

All Tim can manage is a quick glance before he flees with the rest of his belongings. He can't face the situation or the reality of it. If he could, Tim would write it all up to some of Scarecrow's fear gas, but Scarecrow had been absent as of late. There was no one to blame but himself and Tim allowed the guilt to settle heavy in his belly, even as he hid his shame and tried to stay awake till he could hobble to his own room.

Despite the years of training, Tim woke fuzzy minded and groggy. Running a hand through his hair, he blinked blearily and willed his eyes to focus. He could feel the sleep clinging to the corner of his eyes and exhaustion still lingering in both body and mind. Carelessly, Tim flung the blanket off him and he hopped off the bed. The cold wood of the flooring made him shudder and a peculiar draft made him wrap his arms round his torso.

Glancing down, he noticed that his boxers had fallen off and lay in a heap at his feet. He stared down at his feet and wriggled his toes, noting that they looked considerably . . . smaller. Curiosity bubbling, he padded over to the bathroom just outside his room and took a look in the mirror. While Robins did not faint, Tim sure as _hell_ got close.

He stared at himself, both transfixed and horrified. His eyes looked like crystalline beryl and his skin was far too pale. The t-shirt, a hand-me-down from Dick, went to mid-thigh now where it had once fit loosely but comfortably. Tim could only stare at himself, both transfixed and horrified. Somehow, he'd been de-aged, or teleported, or _something_ because, last he had checked, he wasn't four foot eight inches with baby fat still clinging stubbornly to his cheeks.

Staring did nothing to dissolve the image and, once the shock had subsided, he began to rationalize. During the night, he'd somehow been de-aged to, and he had to guess, around nine or ten. Holding up his hands once more, he could recognize the innocence hiding beneath the hands of a boy rather than a man.

"Hey, Timmy, B-man wanted to – "

Whirling around, Tim's eyes widened as he stared at Dick.

Dick stared back.

Tim schooled his expression as he had been taught and held up a hand to silence any further conversation from Dick's end. Fixing his most serious of glares at his brother, Tim attempted to ignore the high pitched lilt to his own voice, "I know this must seem strange. I believe I've been spontaneously de-aged, though I don't know how."

He would have went on, had Dick not let out a very un-manly squeal before flinging himself at Tim. He tried to fend Dick off for as long as he could but he was easily out manned. Tim couldn't help but grumble irritably when he was lifted and crushed against Dick's chest. He hated being small: truly _loathed_ it.

"Dick, put me down," Tim commanded, his words getting lost in the midst of Dick's incoherent rambling.

It took a while, but Dick eventually sobered up enough to stop babbling, though he did refuse to put Tim down despite his rather loud and colorful demands. Tim had to concede, if only because he was tiny and Dick could easily over power him. With arms crossed and lips pulled into a taunt line, Tim sat stiffly in Dick's arms and gave him the occasional kick to the ribs.

Dick's voice dropped, inching towards a more serious topic than they had previously been discussing, "I was gonna say take some time off, but that kinda goes without saying now."

He wanted to find some fault with Dick's assumption that he'd be useless in the field, but, as far as Tim could tell, Dick was right. He'd lost the lean muscle and gained more sinewy, underdeveloped cords of still maturing muscle. While it seemed he had retained most of his mental facilities, Tim knew he had become a burden rather than an asset. He would have continued to berate himself, had Dick not chosen that moment to actually say something _intelligent_ instead of gushing about Tim's "teeny, tiny cuteness levels".

"Looks like you and Conner got a hit of Zatanna's power. It's been going nuts lately and she left earlier this morning for Tibet to retrain herself," Dick calmly informed Tim, though, how Dick could be so calm about the whole matter, Tim did not know. Internally, he was chanting a mantra of 'It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream'. "I'll give her a ring. Till then, I wanna keep you and Conner at the manor."

Tim cocked a brow, wondering just how Dick had already collected so much intelligence on his current predicament. The answer came in the form of a mini Kon sitting in Kory's lap. Though, sitting was a loose term in this case. Kon was turned around, nearly hanging off Kory's shoulder, and attempting to grasp at some sweets Bart had left out. When a laugh bubbled up, Tim couldn't recognize it as his own. Confusion set in, but only for a moment. Both Kory and Kon turned back and looked at him.

"What?" Tim grumbled, crossing his arms and leaning onto Dick's shoulder.

Dick's arms tightened around Tim, his head tilting just so to rest his cheek a top Tim's mop of black hair. One hand rubbed at his brother's back and he couldn't help the grin that over took his features. _Tim_, the sad little Robin, was willing _cuddling_ with him. No prompting, no pouting. Tim was doing it _of his own free will_. Dick felt nearly giddy.

"Hey, Rob," Kon called, finally seated properly in Kory's lap, though his head was questionably placed between her bust, "it's gonna be alright, man. Batman can fix us up. Or someone. Ya know, since we know so man – "

"No!"

Everyone started at Tim's outburst. Dick's head lifted as he turned to silently enquire what the abrupt mood shift was all about. Kory said nothing, just loosely draped her arms across Kon's lap in a poor attempt to keep him from bolting to Tim's side. Kon looked hurt, his eyes wide when he got a glimpse of the tears clinging to edges of Tim's eyes.

With both hands fisted in the fabric of Dick's shirt, Tim glared hatefully, "This will _never_ be alright."

He didn't rightly understand the outburst himself. It felt childish and immature. Embarrassment soon overtook all else and Tim pushed violently against Dick. He fought his way to the floor, kicking and thrashing, and, once his feet touched down, he took off. Any one of the others could have caught him, he knew that, but he ran and tried valiantly to fight off the burning itch to cry.

No one pursued him, though Tim completely failed to notice. Instead, he focused solely on getting away, on finding his secret spot and sitting there till he could regain control over himself and his emotions. He felt a mess, the intensity of it making his skin literally crawl with the feel of filth and dirt. Everything roared at a near unbearable level and made his head throb. Tim could only sag wearily when he yanked open the lesser known storage closet and cuddled up to a box of discarded civilian clothes.

Ages must have passed before he heard the creak of the door open. Having fallen asleep, Tim pried his eyes open and looked to the door groggily. His arms were lying uselessly across his middle, knees pulled up to his chest, and head awkwardly propped up against the cardboard. He couldn't make out the shadow in the doorway, but, given the stature, it could only be Kon, unless others in the Tower had been affected as well. As far as he knew, that was not the case.

"K-Kon," Tim murmured, voice thick and weak.

"Hey, Tim," Kon returned sheepishly, voice too high and shadow too short.

Kon came into the room, leaving the door open in his wake, and approached Tim. Gingerly, he sat beside Tim and leaned in close, though he avoided making any contact. The uneasy tension clogging the air made it hard to breathe for Tim. Soon, what he had thought was a physiological response to discomfort, became another torrid of tears readying themselves to fall. He turned his head inward, unwilling to Let Kon see him cry if it did come to that again.

"Hey," and Kon sounded too gentle and concerned to be parading around in the body of a ten-year-old, "come on, man. It's gonna be alright and I _mean_ it."

A too warm hand came to rest on Tim's arm. Then, a too warm body pressed fully against Tim's side. He didn't turn his head, didn't acknowledge Kon. He was forced to when Kon seized his chin and forced him to look. For a moment, they stared into one anothers eyes. Kon kept his gaze steady, the grief raging just behind the brilliant blue of his eyes, but he projected comfort and understanding, adoration and something Tim couldn't quite place. Tim's own eyes wavered from time to time while his face pinched and he felt the tears slipping down the tracks from earlier.

"Tim, I need you to listen to me."

Cautiously, Tim raised his gaze again and held it this time. He at least owed it to Kon to listen. He nodded dumbly and waited patiently, even while Kon chewed his lip anxiously.

Kon sucked in a messy breath before continuing, "Me and Cassie were over a _long_ time ago. I just, uh, asked her. To keep pretending to be my girlfriend. Cause, I. Uh, well, I told her that I liked you and we fought about it at first but then she said she understood and we were cool but I wasn't sure how to tell you so I was dumb and – "

Tim chose then to shut Kon up bringing their lips together in a whisper of a kiss. Kon did nothing but go still and close his eyes, leaning into the kiss. Tim stiffened till Kon's hand came up to his cheek and caressed the skin just under his eye. When they pulled apart, Kon smiled warmly and kissed Tim's forehead before moving down to his nose.

Tranquility pervaded all of Tim's senses till he jumped at the sound of a loud squeal. Whipping his head around to look for the source, he could only smile ruefully at seeing Dick swooning in the doorway, one hand on his chest and the other against his forehead. While Dick went through the normal theatrics, yelling threats at Kon about "defiling his younger brother" and cooing as to how cute they looked together, Kory stood by like a silent God, smiling serenely.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Weird one-shot, I know. Hope you enjoy, though! Read, review, blahblah.


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